Unspoken Torment
by calliedot
Summary: When Dean returns from hell, he's haunted by painful memories and torturous nightmares, but something isn't quite right about him... He just doesn't seem to be the same Dean Winchester as before, and both Sam and Castiel are determined to find out just what's going on with him. [Generally Set In S4] [Rated T To Start]
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Supernatural**

 **So this is the first 'proper' Supernatural fic that I've written so if I have a few inconsistencies in the plot then please do point them out. This is generally set during Season 4, after Dean's been raised from hell by Cas and is still being haunted by his memories. What can I say? I'm a sucker for angst and drama. The actual plot line has yet to be determined, but I have a general idea of where it will go. This fic will probably stray quite far from the actual events of S4, but that's to be expected from what I'm going to introduce next chapter (*Spoilers*)**

 **Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read my fanfiction, and if you like it then make sure to follow it for updates on when I post a new chapter! Also, if you'd like to leave a review to let me know how I'm doing then that'd be awesome! :3**

 **Chapter 1 :**

A light bead of sweat ran down the face of the eldest Winchester, followed by a small whimper and the heavy sound of breathing. His heart was practically beating out of his chest, each pump of blood circulating through him sounded like a beat on a drum. The worn motel sheets were clenched in his fists as he tossed to and fro, shaking his head frantically in an attempt to rid himself of his nightmare. Blood curdling screams shot through his head, the glare of fire glinting off of the plethora of tangled chains made him wince, and the warm feeling of blood running down a knife's handle and onto his hand made him nearly go insane.

"S-Sammy-" Dean choked, instinctively calling out for his brother, the burning sensation traveling through him ultimately silencing him from the pain. He thrashed about for a few more seconds before something grabbed him by his shoulders and began shaking, and the distant sound of a familiar voice yelling his name slowly brought him back to reality.

"Dean!" The younger Winchester bellowed, looking down with concern at his brother, trying desperately to free him from whatever hell he was trapped in. No response. Dean still lay writhing in pain and despair as his brother continued to try and wake him. "Dean you're ok! Wake up!" Not knowing what else to do, Sam grit his teeth and smacked his brother across the face, causing for Dean's eyes to snap open as he bolted upright. Disoriented and confused, the older brother instinctively shot forward, knocking his sibling down to the mattress with a hand secured to his throat. "D-Dean it's me, it's Sam! S-St…" Sam gasped, his sentence being cut off from the lack of air from being choked and completely winded when he was knocked down. Dean's eyes were dark and hazed over, barely human. The softer green color only returned to Dean's eyes when he heard Sammy calling out to him for the second time. The look of confusion on his face was instantly replaced with one of apprehension and fear as he scrambled to get off of his brother, helping him to sit up and regain his breath. Sam coughed and sat leaning forward for a few seconds , leaving Dean unsure as to whether or not he should aid his little brother or to back away and to leave him be. The older Winchester lay a hesitant hand on his brother's back, rolling his thumb up and down in a soothing motion to help calm Sam down (and himself in the process). With the absence of Sam's coughing and Dean's shaky nightmare induced breathing, the two were left at the mercy of the dismal motel room's musty smell and sickening silence. The abnormally quick thumping coming from Dean's chest gradually returned to a normal rhythm and Sam finally turned to look at his brother; creating even more unwanted tension between them. Dean avoided his gaze shamefully, letting his hand fall from the other's back as he stood and hastily walked towards the door of the motel room. After slipping on his jacket and boots, the older Winchester was caught by his arm by the time the door was half open. Without needing to look back, Dean knew what look Sam would have on his face and exactly what question he would soon hear him ask.

"It was hell, wasn't it?"

A small pause ensued as the eldest Winchester pondered his response.

With a strained smile, Dean answered.

"Clowns."

"Alright soldier, no caffeine for you. Only decaf." Dean declared as he walked into their motel room with two cups of coffee, startling his brother again who was half asleep on his bed. Sam's hair was messy and stuck to his face with drool, his eyelids felt like they weighed several tons and his limbs were about as useful as overcooked spaghetti. With a heavy grunt, Sam managed to sit himself upright and squinted as an alien light poured into the room. He must've fallen asleep when Dean left as it was still dark… or… He couldn't quite remember….

" _Dean, you can't ignore this!" Sam yelled after his brother, following him down the poorly lit hallway of the motel. His brother ignored him and kept walking, not even slowing his pace. Frustrated, Sam jogged quickly up to him and caught his brother by the shoulder, jerking him backwards. Dean spun around and caught Sam off guard, ripping his sibling's hand off his arm and shoving him back with quite a bit of force. Sam stumbled for a second then regained his balance, looking up with a shocked expression and meeting one of stone. Dean's eyes were a darkened green, filled with anguish and solitude. He gave his brother a once over before turning on his heel and continuing on his way down the hall._

" _I'll ignore it for as long as I want to."_

Sam did his best to fix his hair and walked over to where Dean had set his coffee down.

"No caffeine for me?" Sam asked, surprised, "Dean you barely slept for an hour before you-" A cold glare from his older brother silenced him before he was able to mention his nightmare, leaving the room in yet another awkward silence. Eventually, Dean sighed and glanced up at his brother, pointing to his own cheek before asking, "How's your face?" Sam's brow furrowed in confusion.

"My what?"

 _Sam stormed after his brother again, getting rather angry. He ran in front of Dean, cutting him off from the exit to the Motel. Dean stopped in front of him, jaw clenched in irritation._

" _Sammy if you don't move away from that door I'll-" Dean paused, catching himself before finishing his threat, unsure as to where he would have taken it._

" _You'll what Dean? Shoot me? Hit me?" Sam bellowed, "Why can't you just talk to me Dean!"_

" _Dammit because I don't want you to know!" The angry tone in Dean's voice quickly turned into one of pain, and the feeling of regret began to sink in._

" _About what Dean."_

" _I just told you that I don't want you to know."_

 _Dean tried to walk past Sam and was stopped with a firm grip on his shoulder._

" _Tell me."_

 _Dean glared into his brother's eyes and spoke through gritted teeth._

" _Let go of me."_

Sam blinked as the past night's events slowly came back to him. He lifted his hand to his cheek, wincing as his fingers brushed over what felt like a nasty bruise. The last thing he remembered was trying to stop Dean from leaving the motel when… oh.

 _Sam hit the ground hard, scaring Dean for a moment when he thought that he had hit his head. Although the force of impact from hitting the ground wasn't enough to knock his brother unconscious, the sheer force from Dean's punch did the job nicely. Dean grimaced and held his hand, a small amount of blood running down his knuckles._

" _Dumbass…" He muttered as he sighed and sat his brother up, barely managing to lift him off the ground, "Why can't you just let it go."_

"Did you carry me back?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's initial question. His brother nodded and took a sip of his own coffee, frowning when he realized that Sam had switched the cups without him noticing. Sam sat, sipping the cup of caffeine defiantly with an expectant look on his face.

"Yeah I did, but barely." Dean scoffed, putting down his disappointing cup of decaf on the table and folding his arms across his chest, leaning against the wall, "Sam you need to lose some weight, go on a diet or something." Sam shot Dean an unamused look before he took another sip.

"We should call him, he might be able to help."

Dean looked at his brother, confused as to what he meant. After a short pause, Dean realized that the 'him' Sam was referring to was Castiel. The 'angel'.

"What could he possibly do to make anything better?"

Sam shrugged and watched with a calm expression as Dean began to pace back and forth slightly.

"I don't know, but I think it's worth a shot."

"For the last time Sammy, I'm fine."

A few hours later, the two brothers found themselves in a police office; dressed as FBI agents, they were waiting to be let into the interrogation room to speak to the witness that might have something to do with the case they were working on. Sam sat patiently, leafing through the case files while he waited, whereas Dean was tapping his foot rather impatiently and poked his brother every now and then just to get on his nerves. It seemed incredibly unprofessional for two FBI agents, of course, if they were real FBI agents…

"Agents Plant and Page?" An officer interrupted the two just as Dean was about to try and stick his finger in Sam's ear. Sam bolted from his seat, surprising the officer and causing for Dean to snicker slightly. The policeman led them down the hall and into a decently lit room where a young man, no older than twenty three, was handcuffed to the table. The three lingered outside the room for a moment as the officer unlocked the door and held it open for the two brothers.

"Thank you officer." Sam thanked the policeman as he nodded and shut the door behind them, leaving the 'FBI agents' to interrogate the witness. Sam and Dean sat in the two chairs opposite the man, Dean giving him a wary look while Sam did a quick once through of his file. "Your name is Greg Warren, is that right?"

The man shifted in his seat slightly, not seeming uncomfortable with the question, but giving off the vibe that he was rather irritated and bored with being held in custody.

"That's what it says on the file right?" Greg answered in a voice that dripped with sarcasm, and it was also something that would soon prove to be enough to tick off a severely decaffeinated Dean.

"Look, if I were caught in the middle of a drug deal then I'd be rather defensive too, but this is a case involving a potential first degree murder, so I'd show a little restraint in the choice of your words and the tone that you decide to take up with two federal agents." Sam retorted, causing for Greg to sit back up in his seat, but keep the aloof and slightly judgemental grimace on his face.

"Can you tell us what you told the police when they first picked you up?" Dean asked, doing his best to stifle a yawn that he very much blamed Sam for. If it wasn't obvious already, Dean was incredibly pissed that Sam switched out their coffee cups, and he was going to take every chance to point it out or remind himself of it.

"Well, if you read the file then you should know." Greg replied with a slightly dulled sarcasm in his voice, but the intention of defying Sam and Dean remained. Sam moved forward with his elbows on the table, sighing in disappointment as his words of warning from before had clearly had little to no effect on the suspect in front of them. Dean chuckled to himself slightly before he stood up from his chair and walked around the table to stand next to the witness, leaning forward on the table with his hands and leaning down a little. Greg shuffled away from him uncomfortably, but his chair was caught underneath the table by Dean's foot.

"Listen up smartass, we asked _you_ to tell us what you told the police, not to tell us where your statement has been recorded." From the tone of the eldest Winchester's voice, you could tell that he wasn't in the mood to be messed with, "So how about we try this again and in a different way, why don't you tell us what you told the police, or I'll make sure you spend the rest of your miserable life rotting away in a cell that feels like it's worse than hell. Ok?" Sam glanced up worriedly, he had never known his brother to go that far when intimidating someone during an investigation; the comparison of the cell he had in mind to hell also brought up a few questions, but he decided to push them away for the moment. Greg sighed and adjusted his hands on the table just ever so slightly, causing for the chain on his handcuffs to rattle and send the sound echoing around the room.

"Well, I was just about to finish paying my dealer when this crazy blonde chick comes walking by. One of the guys whistled at her and before I knew it his head had turned a one eighty and there was blood pouring from his mouth." He finally gave them a decent answer, and as Sam was too focused on catching every word he said to compare it with the file, he didn't notice how pale Dean had suddenly gotten. The eldest Winchester moved back from the table rather sharply and corrected his posture, his face was oddly pale and his palms began to perspire.

"And I could've sworn…" Greg began again before catching himself and shaking his head as he tried to convince himself that what he'd seen was crazy, "No, it wouldn't be possible." Sam raised his eyebrow, unsure as to what the suspect would have said if he had continued.

"What wouldn't be possible?"

"It's just that, I could've sworn… That her eyes were white. Completely white." Greg laughed to himself, thinking that he must've hallucinated it, "I know it sounds crazy, I was probably just seeing things…"

Sam sat up, his face falling as the mention of a blonde woman with white eyes finally clicked in his mind. He glanced up to Dean, hoping that he would give him some sort of reaction to Greg's testimony, instead, he was greeted by someone who looked like they'd just seen a ghost.

"Dean." Sam said warily, not saying his name too loudly or clearly, but making enough of a sound so that his brother would be aware that he was trying to communicate. If Dean knew how silly it sounded that his 'PTSD' flashback of hell was triggered by some stoner moving his handcuffs, then he probably would have laughed at himself. He stood unmoving and unresponsive to his brother's call, lost in some hellish memory that involved the all too familiar and haunting sound of chains clashing together. There were so many that he could barely separate or truly make sense of any of them, but that didn't stop them from all flooding in at once; memory after memory assaulted his mind, paining him with images of himself chained to a rack, of chains of others being rattled, and the sizzling sound of flesh being burned as some poor man's scalding hot chains wrapped around his leg like a snake. "Dean." Sam repeated as he got to his feet and walked over to his brother, lightly shaking his shoulder and managing to snap him out of it this time. Surprised, Dean watched Sam warily for a moment before clearing his throat as he began to walk toward the door.

"Thank you for your satisfactory cooperation and for the unnecessary and childish sass, we'll be on our way now." Dean loosely commented before he left the room with Sam hurriedly gathering his documents and following his brother out into the main office of the police station. Once they were out the door (and after they attracted a few sideways glances from the other police officers in the station) Sam had to really pick up his walking pace to try and keep up with Dean who seemed like he was practically running rather than walking to the Impala.

"Dean!" Sam frantically tried to call for his brother's attention, only to have the car door slammed shut in front of him.

He sighed, shaking his head before walking around to his side of the car and getting in, not saying a word to the disgruntled Winchester sat next to him in the driver's seat. Sam had learned not to pry when Dean was visibly upset about something, he knew that his older brother never wanted to show weakness and especially not in front of his baby brother; when they were growing up he would never know when Dean was sad, or when he was really in pain because he hid it so well. It hurt even more to know that he must have gone through so much and he never knew about it, because his brother didn't want him to, because he didn't want him to worry. While they drove to the diner near their motel, Sam occasionally glanced over to see if Dean had recovered or even relaxed slightly from his lapse, flashback, or whatever they were going to call it; after all, it wasn't every day that someone would need to figure out an appropriate term to reference to the resurfacing memories of their brother's time in hell. The color had returned to Dean's face and his hands were no longer dampened with sweat and shaking, and that was enough to give Sam even the slightest amount of reassurance that his brother was going to be ok. The rumbling engine of the Impala came to a gradual stop as they pulled up to the front of the diner, and the familiar groan of the gear stick clicking back into place seemed to relax both of the car's passengers.

"Look…" Dean began, still keeping his gaze fixed ahead of him, not willing to glance towards Sam even slightly, "I'll figure something out to manage this, but I can't have you constantly worrying about me. It's not your job to look after me Sammy, it's my job to take care of you." The older Winchester's words lingered in the car, leaving just enough time in between the end of his sentence and the beginning of Sam's to form a decent awkward silence.

"I know that you don't want me to worry, but you can't treat me like I'm five anymore Dean. Dad's not around to give you any orders and I'm sure as hell not going to let you bear some unholy burden by yourself like he did. So if you don't want me to worry, then tough, because I'm worried about you Dean." Sam's voice slowly began to raise in volume, the pain cutting through in his words and the tone of his voice were enough to make Dean turn to face him with a rather startled expression on his face, "You've looked after me for so long and you've done unimaginable things to make sure that I was alright, and you have no idea how grateful I am to have you as my big brother." Typically at this moment, Dean would've plastered on his big goofy grin and said something along the lines of: 'Sammy, no chick flick moments'. Instead of responding with a joke or creative reference, the eldest Winchester was completely silent, even his breathing barely made a sound. "So _you_ won't figure this out. _We_ will, together. Dean, you need to let me help you, you need to let someone finally save you from being the hero all the time, you need to just-" Just as Sam tried to complete his rant, despite his cracking voice, he was suddenly pushed back in his seat and found two arms wrapped tightly around him. Surprised, the younger Winchester hugged his brother back, taken aback by the sudden bear hug he was being given (he knew Dean wasn't much for emotional moments, and didn't really care for tears or soppy hugs). "D-Dean?" Sam asked, startled.

"Shut up." A deeper yet equally broken voice grumbled next to his ear. Their hug lasted for a few more seconds before Dean finally let go and quickly turned away as he tried to correct his voice before he spoke again. The younger Winchester hadn't moved or spoken while he waited for his brother to respond, instead, he watched as Dean took in a rather shaky breath and turned to face him. Instead of seeing the face of someone who's been tortured, or even shaken in the slightest way, he saw his brother's typical big goofy grin that he always wore; the grin was enough to convince anyone that the man behind it was the happiest person in the world.

"Oh look what you've done to me, you've gone and made me all emotional… Sammy, what did I tell you! No chick flick moments!" His laugh and his chipper tone of voice were much less convincing than they usually were, and no matter how good Dean was at hiding the pain in his voice, he just couldn't do it this time, "How about we have a few beers and try out the menu at this place, I heard that the burgers here are pretty good." Sam gazed at his brother with a blank expression, disturbed at how quickly Dean could move past what he'd said and how easily convinced he was by his brother's excuse.

"Yeah, sure." He mumbled, remaining in his seat for a few more moments as he watched his brother get out of the car. Although Sam was glad that Dean seemed to register what he had said, the thing that upset him most was his brother's response.

' _No chick flick moments_ '

How could he brush something so serious off so quickly?

The words echoed in his head as he followed his brother into the diner, wondering just how damaged Dean really was, and for how long he'd been hiding things from him.


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own Supernatural**

 **Hey! It's been forever since I updated this, I wonder if anyone still reads it…**

 **Anyway! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and that you'd like to read more as I'll definitely be writing more! I might not update right after but don't worry! None of my fics have been forgotten!**

 **Ok so I had just written this, having completely forgotten that I had already written a second chapter… but I ended up liking this one more so I'm just going to replace it… use it as a short chapter… and write a really LONG and detailed third chapter… ok? Ok!**

 **Please fav/follow and leave a review! No matter how short or detailed the review is they always mean** _ **a lot**_ **to me! So please just let me borrow a minute of your time to let me know what you think! Thanks!**

 **Chapter 2 :**

It didn't take long until the brothers were back in the motel. The boys' dinner had gone as well as it possibly could have considering their… situation. As expected, Dean casually brushed off any of Sam's efforts to get him to talk about what was going on with him, and eventually Sam conceded for the night and settled on picking the topic back up with his brother the next day. The two enjoyed their meals over a light conversation, that mainly covered topics such as Sam's hair growing too long, and how Sam would literally stab Dean in his sleep if he mentioned it again or dared to go near him with a pair of scissors. The usual. They both joked over silly things and talked about music, cars, and girls. The usual. Dean had ordered one too many beers… then swiftly moved onto taking shot after shot of tequila to the point where he practically could have just chugged the bottle and gotten it over with. The usual. Sam had to practically carry him out the door after he had begun flirting with one of the waitresses, who was really _not_ into the drunken mess that the eldest Winchester was at the moment. The usual. For once, when Sam turned the key in the Impala's ignition, Dean didn't yell or fuss over it, which Sam found rather peculiar; drunk or not, Dean hated anyone else driving his baby unless he gave them his permission beforehand. The engine growled to life, and then slowed to a soothing rumble, which Dean's snoring seemed to match perfectly as he was passed out in the back seat.

Carrying Dean wasn't as easy as he had thought. He was quite heavy, and his upper body seemed to just attract itself straight toward the ground, so Sam settled on holding his brother's legs over his shoulder as the rest of his body hung limp over his back with his head nearly skimming the floor of the motel corridor. The two crashed into the room and Sam basically flung his brother onto his bed with a hefty sigh, frowning as his brother barely stirred and continued to snore, completely unconscious. Sam breathed in relief, enjoying the quieter setting (sans the honking of his brother's sinuses), and went to the bathroom to change and to wash up for bed. He was exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes had gotten worse and every inch of his body ached from sleep deprivation and from stress. It wasn't supposed to be this way. His brother was supposed to be back, for good, no catches, no tricks. He cupped his hands and splashed warm water onto his face, patting down with a towel and then looked in the mirror. He flinched, an unwanted thought entering his mind. He needed more, he could feel the power fading from his body. He looked away. Dealing with Dean was difficult enough already, he didn't need to deal with the morals of his involvement with… her. It. He felt as if the world was falling apart around him, and in a way, it was. Sam let the silence in the room sink into him, trying to let it calm him down. He breathed in, maybe… just maybe he-

He paused.

Silence.

Sam poked his head out of the bathroom to peek on his brother. Dean's snoring had stopped. He cautiously made his way over to his brother, checking to see if he was still asleep or if something else was wrong. The eldest Winchester was breathing regularly, and showed no signs of waking up. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He was becoming paranoid now. He flicked the lights in the room off and crawled into his own bed, melting into the somewhat soft, cheap motel mattress. Maybe, everything would work out. Eventually. He let his eyes close, and gradually began to drift off to sleep.

"Dean," Sam grumbled in annoyance, "Turn that light off". There was no response. Sam huffed, squinting as he slowly began to wake from a bright light shining in defiance straight into his eyes. "Dean, I said turn the light off." Again, his brother didn't respond. Sam blinked, readjusting his sight to the brightness in the room, straining to see why his brother had turned the buzzing motel room light on. Except, his brother hadn't moved from bed at all. Sam's back stiffened and he reached for the gun on the side table. "Wake up." He quietly urged his sibling, taking a quick scan of the room to see if anyone or anything else was there. Dean didn't move, he lay still on his bed without even so much as shifting in his sleep. The lights began flickering. Sam reached over to shake his brother awake, laying a hand on his arm, and then immediately flinching away the second he made contact. Sam gasped, a sharp burning sensation had rippled from his fingertips through his shoulder the second he had put a hand on his brother's forearm. What the hell was going on?" The younger Winchester turned, laying his gun back on the nightstand and kneeling at his brother's bedside. Light beads of sweat had formed on Dean's forehead, and his skin was pale and glistening. "D-Dean?" Sam whispered, suspecting that he was suffering from another nightmare. He edged back slightly, not wanting a repeat of before, but staying close enough to be there to aid his brother if needed. A soft, broken sigh escaped the eldest Winchester's lips, his brows creasing and his fists clenching and unclenching. Sam was right, but, why wasn't he yelling like before? Something was wrong. The lights flickered more violently, and the humming of the bulbs became louder and louder, and the brightness of the lamps began to slowly increase. Sam's eyes widened, was his brother doing this?

"Dean, you need to wake up." Sam pleaded, his voice even but laced with concern, "Please."

Suddenly, Dean's back arched and a sharp cry of pain erupted from his lips, his eyes remaining tightly closed. Sam lurched forward, once again trying to shake his brother awake, and again his hands felt as if they were being scorched by fire and he was forced to sit back unable to do anything. This time, after he made contact, a gold light shone from underneath Dean's skin. It wrapped around his arm and went up to his throat, and after further inspection, the mysterious glow had spread to Dean's other arm and across his body. It wrapped across his chest, arms, legs, and throat almost like rope… like chains. "What the…" Sam breathed in astonishment.

"S-Sam please, no, don't!" The older brother yelled out in desperation, still trapped in his own dark and twisted nightmare, "Please Sammy, I-" His plea was cut short by a small gasp which was closely followed by a dark line appearing at his throat. Dean coughed, struggling for air as if he was being choked. Light tears pricked in the corners of the older brother's closed eyes, his jaw clenched as he struggled for breath. His heart pounded with the same ferocity and intimidation as a drum, pumping scorching crimson blood through his veins, and giving his cheeks a flushed pink color. If Sam couldn't lay a hand on him without being burned, then he'd have to find another way to wake him up. He jumped to his feet, running to the bathroom and grabbed a bowl from the dingy motel kitchen, filling it with cold water and running back to his brother. After taking a deep breath, Sam flung the cool water onto his brother, hoping that it would finally be able to free him from his torment. It did nothing. The lights continued to flicker, and the buzzing became louder and louder until it became a high pitched whining, causing for Sam to wince, falling to his knees and covering his ears. Blinding lights filled the room, and one by one the lightbulbs began to pop, sending shards of glass rocketing through the room. Sam shielded his eyes with his arm, ducking from the shower of razor sharp pieces of glass that were bouncing across the bedroom.

"Sam!"

"Dean!"

Then there was silence.

Sam's view of his brother had been obscured by a tan fabric, which upon further inspection he realized was a large beige trench coat being worn by a rather scruffy looking, yet familiar man. Sam dropped his hands from his head and stood up, leaning forward to see who the strange figure was. His dark ebony hair was an absolute mess, giving him the appearance of a stray dog, with his poorly maintained stubble on his jaw complimenting his disheveled look. The man had laid two fingers on Dean's forehead, who was now relaxed against the mattress and sleeping soundly as before; the golden markings had left without a trace. He lowered his fingers from the eldest Winchester's head, and turned to face the very confused and distressed looking younger brother, who still couldn't quite figure out what had just happened. His eyes widened with realization.

"C-Castiel?"


End file.
